


A Stranger Came To Town

by Xanoka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Awesome Laura Hale, Canonical Character Death, Child's Point of View, Cora Hale is scary, Cute Kids, Dark Inspired, Derek Hale is a Softie, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Mood Whiplash, Nemeton, Panic Attacks, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sort Of, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Terminal Illnesses, The Hale Family, The Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Time Skips, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, We don't need caves, We have a Nemeton, but then, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanoka/pseuds/Xanoka
Summary: When Stiles Stilinski was seven he fell off a cliff and met Laura Hale. Three years later he disappeared. And then a stranger came to town.Full disclosure: this is inspired by the awesome German Netflix series 'Dark' but it is NOT a proper Dark AU. After the first episode I speculated wildly and the idea for this fic was born. I can now confirm that I was way off, but I wrote it anyway! But that's why it's not tagged as 'Dark' or as a Dark fusion.
Relationships: Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	A Stranger Came To Town

**Author's Note:**

> Warning again for panic attacks and terminal illness, so stay safe if that would be upsetting for you. Also, if I should tag anything else, please let me know! Also also, Stiles sometimes thinks of himself as "weird" (but not in a bad way) because he's a little kid. I feel like I should tag that, but I'm not sure how, so I would appreciate any suggestions.
> 
> This first chapter is gen, obviously, because they're kids, but the rating may change in future chapters.

When Stiles was seven he fell off a cliff.

It sounds more dramatic than it was, but that’s the story and he’s sticking with it.

Besides, _anything_ looks like a cliff when you’re seven and small.

He lay at the bottom of that gully, clutching his wrist — which _hurt_ even more than the time he trapped his finger in the kitchen door — and trying not to cry. His Dad was going to be Sheriff soon and he _never_ cried. Except during sad movies, but that was different. 

His Dad would be able to get out of the gully, and not just because he was super tall. His Dad was also _strong_ . He’d once carried Stiles _and_ Mom all by himself. From the car to the front door, and he’d collapsed afterwards, but he’d _done_ it _._ Dad would be able to find roots, or something, and haul himself out, no problem. He would climb that cliff like Spiderman. 

Dad didn’t have a hurt wrist though. Stiles looked at his wrist and tried to wriggle his fingers, which hurt even _more_ . After he’d blinked the tears away, he decided his wrist must be broken. Or his hand. Or the whole arm. They might have to _amputate_ . He’d seen that in a hospital show once at Scott’s house. Mom wouldn’t let him watch those shows because of all the blood, but Mrs. McCall was a nurse and she said getting hurt was part of life. Scott said he liked to see the blood and gross stuff, but really he just missed his mom when she was at work, and watching the shows made him feel better. Scott never said so, but Stiles could _tell_ because he was _percepting_ . That’s what his mom said and she wasn’t a nurse, but she was still _awesome._

It would be great if she were here. Or Mrs. McCall, as she could fix his wrist, but Mom would be even better. She and Dad knew he was gone, right? They’d all been having a picnic in the Preserve, but then Mom and Dad started cuddling and being _gross_ , so Stiles decided to go and look for pinecones, but then he got lost in his head, like Mom says, and stopped paying attention, and then he was _really_ lost. And then he’d found the gorge and went to investigate, but he didn’t know the ground was loose there and now he was at the bottom of it.

He tried to climb up the side, but even with two working hands it would have been _really_ hard. The sides of the gully were smooth and steep with only a few wispy roots sticking out that came off in his hand, and the second time he slid down he accidentally jolted his wrist and that pushed the tears out before he could stop them. 

So he couldn’t climb out. And that wasn’t his fault because he was _hurt_ . He was still smart, though. Mom and Dad both said so. So he’d walk along the gully and maybe he’d find a way out that way. And then he’d find Mom and Dad, and maybe they’d yell at him a little for wandering off, but he was _hurt_ , so they couldn’t be too mad. That was the rule. They’d go to the hospital to see Mrs. McCall and maybe he’d get ice cream for being brave.

Feeling better, Stiles started walking. He walked for a _long_ time. Dad said everything feels like a long time when you’re seven, but this time the sun moved in the sky and it wasn’t night time, but it was definitely getting darker. But maybe that was because of the trees. Stiles wasn’t allowed to go into the Preserve on his own, so he’d never been this deep. Here the trees were thicker and taller and closer together, looming over him and the gully and blocking out the sky. 

It wasn’t _scary_ , because Stiles was brave, like his Dad, but it would be much better if he wasn’t all alone. And he’d been walking a long time, so now he was hungry and tired too. There was a trickle of an almost dried up stream at the bottom of the gully that he’d squelched into a few times, so there was water soaking his socks through his sneakers. And his wrist still hurt so much the throb of it had spread up his whole arm.

He saw a big flat rock that looked good for sitting, so Stiles did and now his legs felt a bit better. He looked at the sad little trickle of a creek and he was _thirsty._ But the water looked dirty and Stiles was _seven_ so he knew you don’t drink dirty water. 

The cliffs were as tall as ever, maybe even taller than before. His plan didn’t seem to be working. He stretched his legs out in front of him as he thought.

Perhaps he should just sit here for a while. Mom and Dad would find him, or Dad would call his friends at the Sheriff’s department, and they had dogs and maybe there’d even be a _helicopter_. He’d never seen one in Beacon Hills, which is where he lived, but he’d seen them on TV and he knew they were used to look for people.

And that’s when he heard a twig snap not very far away. There was something coming towards him and the birds had stopped singing and the hair on the back of his neck prickled because there was something watching him, and that happens in movies right before the scary monster arrives. Or maybe it was a _wolf._ Or a _mountain lion._ And it’d eat him right up, and Mom would cry and probably Dad would too, because it’s OK to cry when you’re sad, and they’d be _really_ sad because he’d be eaten up and they’d never know what happened to him.

There was a big branch that had fallen off one of the trees, so he picked it up quick, because if it was a big animal it might see he had a weapon and decide to leave him alone and look for a rabbit, or something, instead. Animals aren’t dumb, he’d seen it in a nature show. If it was a monster, though, he'd be toast.

Dead leaves crunched, so the monster-wolf-lion really wasn’t trying to be quiet, which might be good, because aren’t animals looking for food usually quiet about it? Or maybe it knew he couldn’t get away. Maybe it _wanted_ him to hear it and be even more scared. Stiles hefted the branch to look tough, because that wasn’t going to work on him. His breathing might have been a bit shaky, but it was _cold_ here at the bottom of the gully. He wasn’t scared, nuh-uh.

A head popped up over the edge of the cliff, looking down at him. 

“What are you doing down there, kid?” She called down, because she was a person, a big kid with long dark hair that fell over her face as she peered down at him. At least, she _looked_ like a person.

“Are you a monster?” he called back suspiciously.

Her eyes crinkled up and she laughed way longer than she needed to.

“I don’t know,” she replied when she was done. “Do I look like a monster?”

Stiles considered. 

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve never met one.” 

“Then how do you know monsters are mean?”

That was a good point. Mom always said it’s bad to decide stuff about someone before getting to know them. She got really angry about it. She’d said it loudly and with more bad words to his Dad when Stiles was supposed to be in bed after that time Jackson pushed him over in the playground and said he wouldn’t play with Stiles _ever_ . Stiles was a weird kid, and Mom says people wouldn’t say that if they followed her advice and got to know him, but Stiles thought maybe he _was_ a bit weird, because his thoughts ran together and jumped to new places all the time, and he talked too fast about weird stuff until people looked at him funny. So maybe he was weird, but that didn’t make him bad, and maybe monsters were the same.

“Maybe they’re not,” he agreed and dropped the stick.

The girl-who-might-be-a-monster laughed again.

“You’re a weird kid.” But was smiling and looking fond, even though they’d just met.

“I know!”

That got him another bark of laughter.

“So, seriously, what are you doing down there?”

“I’m stuck,” Stiles admitted, feeling a little ashamed. “I can’t get out, but that’s just because I’m _seven_ and I’m _hurt._ I didn’t _cry_ though,” he assured her, and tried to wave his wrist to show her without moving it too much. It didn’t really work.

The girl nodded wisely 

“You’re a stoic little soldier, like my baby bro,” she agreed, and Stiles beamed at her. 

“I’m Stiles Stilinski,” he told her. “My Dad’s going to be Sheriff soon.” Kids Stiles’ age didn’t really care about that stuff, even though it was the _coolest_ , but this girl was a big kid, almost an adult, so she’d be impressed.

“Wow,” the girl marveled, as she should. “Well, I’m Laura Hale.”

She didn’t say anything else, but Stiles deflated a little anyway, because Mrs. Hale was the _mayor_ , and Stiles knew that because Mom worked with the mayor’s office and so did Dad, since he was a deputy. Mayor kind of trumps almost-Sheriff.

Still, Dad said the Hales were good people, even though they lived on their own in a big house in the woods. And there were _loads_ of them, not just mom and dad and kids, but aunties and uncles and cousins and probably grandmas and grandpas. Stiles had heard there were a _hundred_ of them, all in that one house. Which must be strange, seeing all that family every day. Stiles only had one aunt and one cousin, and they lived in Nebraska, so he never saw them. People said the Hales were weird for living that way, so Stiles had decided to like them, even though the only Hale he knew was Cora who went to his school and even Jackson agreed was _scary._

But now he knew Laura too, and she was casually sliding down the gully like an action hero, so if the rest of them were anything like her, they must be cool too.

“Let’s get you out then,” she said cheerfully, and crouched down so he could climb onto her back. Which was kind of her, but he eyed her doubtfully anyway. 

“I can’t hold on,” he told her. “My arm is hurt.”

Laura craned her neck so she could smile at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Stiles. Just hold on with your other arm. I won’t let you fall.”

And Laura was cool, so that had to be true.

Stiles clambered on, trying not to jostle his arm and didn’t quite not whimper when he didn’t entirely manage it. Laura acted like she didn’t hear, though, so it was OK.

“Ready?” She asked, when Stiles had settled himself as well as he could.

“Ready!”

And then Laura leapt up and somehow swung them up and out of the gully like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She crouched down afterwards to let him slide off and turned to grin down at him, as if she hadn’t just done something amazing. Stiles just couldn’t help himself.

“Are you a _superhero_?” 

Laura laughed again and ruffled his hair, which normally he hated from anyone but Mom and Dad, but Laura was the _best_.

She continued to prove this as she chatted with him as they walked through the Preserve, even though she was a big kid and he was only seven. He found out that she also liked Batman, which was good, but she thought Superman was better, which was just _wrong_.

“You’d like my brother, Derek,” she told him. “He says that too.”

And then they were stepping through a break in the trees and into a garden with a swing set and behind it there was a huge house.

This, Stiles realized, must be the Hale House.

“Mom!” Laura yelled as she led him inside, and a tall woman who looked just like Laura appeared in a doorway down the hall. She was holding a mobile phone and she was frowning, like she was really worried about something, but the worry seemed to melt away as soon as she saw Stiles.

“Oh!” she said, sounding very relieved. “You must be Stiles!”

Stiles didn’t know how she knew that, but he agreed and before he knew it he was sitting on a big comfy chair in the kitchen with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies while Mrs. Hale talked on the phone. He could hear music in another room and footsteps upstairs and Stiles thought, _a hundred people live here_.

Someone giggled behind him and he squirmed around to see some little kids in the doorway, peeking around the doorframe. Stiles was big now, since he was seven, but these kids were only four or five. He waved and they giggled harder until a grumpy looking older boy appeared to shoo them away. He gave Stiles a little smile before he went, though, so maybe he wasn’t grumpy after all. Maybe it was just his eyebrows; they were _really_ thick.

Mrs. Hale hung up and smiled at Stiles and stroked his hair, which was OK, because she was Laura’s mom, and Laura was right there on the other side of the table, pretending to flip through a magazine.

“Your Mom and Dad will be here to get you soon,” she told him, and Stiles felt the lurking ball of not-scared in his stomach finally disappear completely.

Mrs. Hale was the mayor, so she wasn’t a nurse, like Mrs. McCall, but she was still a _mom_ , so she had a first aid kid and gently dabbed at the little cuts and scratches Stiles hadn’t even noticed on his face and hands while they waited. She even had some ice wrapped up in a towel, and showed him how to hold it to his hurt arm because she knew he wasn’t a baby and could do it himself. It kind of burned at first because it was so cold, but it made the rest of the pain go away, so that was all right.

It was even better when wheels crunched on the drive outside and a minute later Mrs. Hale went to get the door and _Mom and Dad were finally here_. 

Mom was crying, but she wasn’t sad because she was smiling, and she hugged Laura while Dad hugged Stiles carefully because of his arm, and then she was hugging Stiles too and they were all having a Stilinski Snuggle right there in the Hale kitchen. Mom and Dad clearly needed it because they must have been so scared, so Stiles waited until they let go, then proudly showed them the ice pack, which was a little smooshed after all the hugging.

“Look! I can take care of my arm all by myself!” He waved the ice pack around to show them, and maybe water dripped everywhere because it was steadily melting, but Mrs. Hale didn’t seem to mind. Mom and Dad didn’t mind either, even though their fronts were wet from the ice pack too.

And then Dad was saying: “Let’s get you to the hospital, kiddo.” 

And Mom was saying: “We can’t thank you enough,” to Laura and Mrs. Hale.

And Dad picked Stiles up, even though he wasn’t a baby, but Stiles could feel Dad’s hands shaking a little as he stroked his back, and, actually, it was quite nice to cuddle up, with his face smushed into Dad’s neck, and let himself be carried through the rest of the Hale House, which was ginormous, and out to the car and into his booster seat.

They went to the hospital, and Stiles got a lime green cast for his wrist, which was the _coolest_ , as it meant Mom and Dad and Scott could write on it. So did Cora when she came to loom menacingly over his lunch table at school on Monday. But it turned out she’d only come to say “hi” from Laura, and even doodled a wolf on his cast. It was pretty good, so she must have been practicing.

Maybe he and Cora would be friends, and Scott too, of course, and they’d both get to go over to the Hale House again. That would be the _best._ It might take some time, because Cora didn’t seem to like other people, but Stiles was sure that, eventually, they’d be friends. They _would_.

But then one day Mom didn’t come to get Stiles from school. Stiles _waited_ and _waited_ and finally Mrs. McCall arrived looking very sad. She was still dressed like she’d been at work at the hospital and Stiles got a bad feeling in his stomach. He didn’t say anything, just followed her to her car and there wasn’t a booster seat, but that was all right, because Stiles was eight now. 

They drove, but not towards Stiles’ or even Scott’s house. They were going to the hospital; Stiles remembered the route from when he hurt his wrist almost a year ago now. Stiles could see Mrs. McCall’s hands shaking on the steering wheel and she blinked a lot, like she was trying not to cry.

“It’s OK to cry if you’re sad,” Stiles blurted out, because that’s what Mom always said when _he_ was sad.

Mrs. McCall took a deep breath and turned in her seat to look at him. They were at a stoplight, so she could. Over her shoulder, Stiles watched the light change, but Mrs. McCall didn’t see it because she was looking at Stiles. 

“It’s going to be OK, Stiles,” she said, like she really wanted to believe it.

“OK,” Stiles agreed.

The cars behind were starting to honk, but Mrs. McCall didn’t care because she was a _badass_ . Stiles had heard that word in a movie recently and he loved saying it to himself. It might be a bad word, so he didn’t say it in front of grown ups, but he and Scott whispered it to each other all the time — “You’re a _badass_.” — and giggled.

The cars continued to honk and the light would probably change back to red soon, but instead of driving Mrs. McCall reached back to give Stiles an awkward hug, which was nice, even though she smelled of hospital.

When she pulled away, Mrs. McCall sniffed loudly, like she had a cold, and then carried on driving until they got to the hospital. Except she didn’t get out of the car or take off her seatbelt, she just sat there, staring straight ahead and gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. Then she sighed deeply, like air escaping from an unhappy balloon. And then she told him.

His mom was at work. Something happened in her body. She fell down and didn’t wake up. She’s in hospital and the doctors and nurses are working to find out what’s wrong and make her better. They’re going to help her however they can. She’s not alone, Stiles, Dad’s with her.

The bad feeling in his stomach had moved up to his chest, only now it was a tight feeling, like an elastic band that’s too small for your wrist, except it was wrapped around his chest. Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt, but it didn’t go away. It didn’t go away as they walked through the hospital, and all the nurses smiled sadly at him. It didn’t even go away when Mrs. McCall opened a door and Stiles saw Dad sitting next to a bed. He’d been crying and Stiles could see why he’d been crying because Mom was in the bed next to him and she was asleep, but there were tubes and pipes and a mess of stuff coming out of her.

Stiles sat on Dad’s lap — even though he was too big for that, really — and listened as the doctors came and went and talked to Dad. There were tests and the doctors explained the machines to Stiles. They were helping her breathe and stuff and giving her medicine to get better. He didn’t understand everything they said, but one thing was very clear.

Mom was sick. 

But not regular sick, like when Stiles got chickenpox. She was so sick she couldn't even wake up. Stiles had _never_ been that sick. 

They were in the hospital for _ages_ , waiting, because she was gonna wake up any minute. Dad even let Stiles get Twizzlers from the vending machine while they waited, which was how Stiles knew Dad was busy thinking about Mom, because normally he wasn’t allowed candy so close to bedtime. It was getting dark outside, so Mom had better hurry up and wake up so they could go home. 

Mom didn’t wake up, but Stiles did a few hours later when Dad shook his shoulder gently. 

“Stiles, you’re going to have a sleepover with Scott tonight, OK? That’ll be fun, right?” 

Dad was trying to smile, but it looked wrong on his face, so Stiles looked away. Mrs. McCall was standing in the doorway holding Stiles’ Batman backpack and offered him her hand. She must have been to his house because the Batman backpack was _just_ for sleepovers.

“Scott’s really excited to see you!” She said, and she was doing the wrong-smile too, so Stiles looked at the floor instead.

“I don’t want to go to Scott’s house,” he told it, holding on to Dad tighter. “I want to stay here with Mom!”

He could sleep in the hospital. That would be OK. He could sleep on Dad’s jacket under Mom’s bed. Or in a chair, like people do on the hospital shows.

But Dad was tipping his chin up with his finger, which meant he wanted to talk to Stiles about something serious. Stiles let him, but kept staring very hard at his lap. His eyes were burning and the tight feeling was squeezing, and he just knew if he looked at Dad it’d pop him right open.

Maybe Dad knew it too, because he rubbed Stiles’ back with one hand and started talking anyway.

“I know you want to be here with Mom, Stiles. And, normally, she’d love you to be here with her too. But the hospital’s not a good place for you to sleep. Mom would be so mad at me if I let you stay here.”

“She’d yell at you,” Stiles agreed wetly.

“Probably,” Dad said and chuckled for real this time. The elastic band loosened and Stiles slumped into his Dad with relief.

“You’ll stay with her, right?”

“Of course, buddy.”

“I guess that’s OK, then.”

Stiles went to Scott’s house, and Mrs. McCall let them make a blanket fort in Scott’s room, and they even got to _sleep_ in it.

It was all great until Mrs. McCall came to kiss them both goodnight. After she’d gone, Stiles stared hard at the ceiling of the fort.

“What’s wrong, Stiles?” It was Scott and he was whispering.

Stiles blinked and realized his cheeks were wet.

“My mom’s sick,” he told Scott. The elastic band feeling was back and it was squeezing and squeezing so hard it pushed the air right out of his lungs. Little noises were coming out with it, and Mrs. McCall might hear and she might come in and that would be the _worst_.

Luckily, Scott was the _best_ , because he made a worried little noise too and scooted over until they were wrapped up in a big hug and Stiles could press his face into Scott’s neck and then he could make as much noise as he wanted.

Stiles got to stay home from school the next day. Mrs. McCall took him to the hospital after dropping Scott off, and Mom was awake and happy to see Stiles _._

“Maybe I’ll get to come home today.” she said. “That’d be great, huh?”

It would, but Stiles couldn’t speak, so he just nodded and hugged her tightly.

It was something Stiles noticed over the next few days. Normally, he talked all the time. Dad said he was _famous_ for it. But sometimes, he opened his mouth and the elastic band was there and he had to focus on breathing instead.

It was stupid, because it even happened after Mom came home, which meant she was getting better, so everything was _fine_. 

When it got bad the band squeezed his chest so hard he couldn’t breathe. It was OK at first, because he could go to his room or the bathroom and count to ten and visualize and do all the things Scott did when he had an asthma attack, only without the inhaler. 

But then it happened at school in front of _everyone_ , and it was worse because they were all staring and wouldn’t stop until Stiles woke up in the nurse’s office. He had to see the school’s counsellor after that, who told him it’s called a panic attack and perfectly normal, Stiles.

As if he cared about _that_ ; he already knew he was weird. 

But then his _Dad_ was there, and he looked at Stiles the same way he looked at Mom. Like he was sad and scared, and Stiles didn’t want him to look like that. Dad shouldn’t be scared of _anything. Ever._

But Dad looked like that a lot lately.

One day, Mom had to stay the night at the hospital for tests. Just one night. But then one night became two and then after the third, the doctor asked Dad to come this way so they could talk in private.

That was always a bad sign on the hospital shows. Stiles couldn’t watch them anymore, but he remembered. He sat in a chair next to Mom and tried to breathe until Mrs. McCall arrived to take him to her house, since Mom had to stay another night.

“Mom’s not getting better, is she?” he asked her after they parked outside her house. It was better to ask Mrs. McCall than Dad.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

She said it just like that, no denials or anything. She was a nurse, so it was her job. She reached over to squeeze his hand, though.

He slept over at Scott’s house almost every night now because Dad was always working and Mom was always in the hospital.

His grades weren’t doing so great. He tried, but it was hard to do his schoolwork when the band was squeezing and his brain just wanted to think about whatever was happening to Mom. Eventually, the principal called Dad and Stiles had to sit next to him and hear words like “understandable”, “remedial” and “tutoring”.

“It’s OK, Stiles,” Dad said afterwards in the police cruiser. “It’s OK if you’re having a hard time at school.”

But it wasn’t OK, because Mom was sick and Dad was sad and Dad didn’t need to be sad about Stiles and his panic attacks and his schoolwork on top of everything else. Stiles was nine now, so he could take care of himself. That was something he could do to help Dad. 

So Stiles studied and did his breathing exercises and he didn’t have time to think about the Hales or making friends with Cora or anything else.

His mom died.

There was a funeral but Stiles didn’t remember it.

Afterwards, they were at home again and Mrs. Hale was standing in front of him. She was the mayor until she stepped down last year and she had worked with Mom. She squeezed his shoulder and Stiles didn’t move or say anything until she walked away.

Dad worked a lot.

Stiles tried to study but time came and went and he couldn't keep track.

He still spent a lot of time with the McCalls, since there was no one at home with Stiles when Dad was working. Dad had to work extra hard now it was just him and Stiles, and he was the _Sheriff_ , so he had a lot of responsibilities. Mrs. McCall said he worked so much because he loved Stiles. She knew what she was talking about because Mr. McCall moved out just before Mom got sick, so she had to work extra hard for Scott too. Still, sometimes he wished his Dad loved him a little less and stayed home instead.

He wanted to say so to Mrs. McCall, but that seemed rude. He felt bad even thinking it, and he already felt plenty bad.

“It’s OK to feel whatever you’re feeling, Stiles,” the school counselor had said. 

But that’s wasn’t true, was it? Not if your feelings were just going to make everyone else feel bad. _Especially_ Dad, who worked so hard he’d starting to look like Stiles’ favorite T-shirt, faded from too many times through the wash.

So he had to push it down. 

Only it turned out there were _a_ _lot_ of other feelings to push down too. They were hot, angry things that wriggled around in his gut until he squashed them flat and down with the others, where they sat, getting harder the more he pushed, like a diamond. They studied those in school.

It was probably OK though, since the diamond was deep down in his stomach somewhere where it couldn’t get out. It was good actually, because diamonds are the strongest thing in the world, so all those feelings inside it weren’t going anywhere. It was perfect, really.

So it was all _fine_. 

Until one day the diamond cracked.

It was Scott’s fault, of course. And not just because best friends can blame each other for anything when they need to.

“My Dad’s gone too,” Scott said one day.

 _Scott is trying to help_ , a voice that sounded like Dad’s whispered. He probably thought talking about what made _him_ sad would make Stiles feel better. Or, at least, less like he was on his own far out at sea in an ocean of misery.

It was a nice thought. Except.

“That’s stupid!” 

Scott stared back at him, blank-faced with surprise. Stiles should say sorry. Except, he thought, it _was_ stupid. 

He thought about Scott’s Dad, who was far away somewhere, but still came down to see Scott some weekends. Mr. McCall never really liked Stiles, and that was fine because Stiles never really liked him either. He used to get annoyed that Scott never really went out for sports, which was also stupid because Scott had _asthma_. And nothing had really changed without him, which said everything, really.

And yet he was still _around_ . He _could_ be here right now, if he wanted to.

There was a feeling in response to that thought that might just be stronger than anything. Even a diamond.

And maybe Scott did help, after all, because the elastic band was suddenly gone, but in its place something burning and horrible squeezed out, like pus out of a blister. 

“Your dad’s not _dead_ , Scott, he’s just divorced!”

Scott looked shocked and hurt, like a trodden-upon puppy.

“I know, Stiles, I just mean — “ 

“My mom’s _dead_. I’m _never_ going to see her again! Your dad’s in _Reno_. He could come and see you if he wanted to! He just doesn’t _want_ to!”

He was crying and Scott was crying and Stiles ran downstairs and Dad picked him up soon after that.

“So what happened, kiddo?” Dad asked him when they pulled up outside their house. He didn’t sound mad, which was a surprise, because Stiles was feeling pretty mad. He knew without really thinking about it that he _had_ to keep it up. He kicked the side of the car door and that helped. 

“Scott’s _stupid!_ ” he told Dad. “He said stuff about his dad, like that’s the same as Mom! But it’s not!”

A muscle jumped in Dad’s jaw, so Stiles knew he agreed, but his voice was very even when he replied.

“You’re right, it’s not the same. But, Stiles, don’t you remember how sad Scott was when it first happened?”

Scott had cried _a lot_ . So had Mrs. McCall. Stiles and Mom went over lots of times around then and Mom always made sure to give Mrs. McCall a big hug, and Mrs. McCall’s face was always red and blotchy afterwards because Mom gives the _best_ hugs. 

Gave the best hugs.

The tight feeling was back and it had squished down the anger, so now there was nothing to hold back the looming sadness. Even kicking wouldn’t help, and Stiles knew that without even trying it. 

Without the anger, his brain also had space for a new thought.

“Mom would be mad at me,” he whispered. Mr. McCall had made Scott sad, still made Scott sad, and Mom always said to be kind to people who were sad. You definitely didn’t yell at them.

His dad sighed, so Mrs. McCall had probably already told him what happened on the phone. He was pretty loud; she must have heard him. 

Stiles wondered if he was grounded, then another, much more terrible possibility hit him.

‘Dad!” he said urgently, grabbing his arm. “What if Scott doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?”

What would he _do_ ? Who would sit with him at lunch and help make faces at Jackson when no one was looking? Who would he play with during recess? None of the other kids ever wanted to play with him. And where would he _sleep_ on nights Dad worked? 

He was just imagining sleeping in one of the holding cells when his dad finally spoke.

“Mom wouldn’t be mad at you, Stiles. Though she _would_ tell you to apologize.”

Stiles sank lower in his seat.

“As for Scott, I’m sure he’ll forgive you. He knows how hard it’s been for you. It’ll be OK.”

And for some reason, the hot-blister-pus feeling was back.

“Stop _saying_ that!”

His ears were ringing a little, so he must have shouted it.

“Stiles?” His dad sounded shocked, a far away corner of his brain noticed. Stiles felt shocked too. He was breathing hard, his heart was beating painfully against his chest and everything seemed too bright and out of focus at the same time, like in a dream. Perhaps that was why the words came spilling out, like spiders out of a clutch of eggs.

“It’s not true! People keep _saying_ that, but they’re lying! You’re all lying! It’s _not_ OK. It’ll _never_ be OK.”

Dad didn’t say anything for a second. Then he nodded abruptly.

“You’re right Stiles, it’s not. But you’ve got me and I’ll — ”

“But I don’t _want_ you. I want _Mom_!” 

His dad flinched like he’d hit him, and this wasn’t a dream, was it? 

There wasn’t enough room in the car. 

Luckily, Dad had already disabled the child lock and their house backed onto the Preserve, so Stiles scrambled out of the car and took off into the trees.

He ran and ran and Dad followed at first, but only like he wanted to show he tried, because he stopped pretty fast.

Stiles kept running until he was tired and then he walked instead.

He found a long, hefty stick and knocked it against trees as he walked. That felt pretty good, so he stopped and hit it harder again and then again, and he kept going until he was panting and the stick was broken and his hands were red and sore.

Like before, the anger blew away suddenly and he dropped the stick and sat down to hug his knees.

What was he going to do?

His dad must be so mad, he didn’t even _chase_ him. Not properly. Maybe he couldn’t even _go_ home.

Perhaps he should just live here, in the Preserve, where he could yell horrible things and hit trees and nobody minded. Except maybe the Hales, but he could stay far away from their house.

It would be nice to go to _their_ house. To just walk out of the trees and into their garden and sit on their porch. Maybe he could live with the Hales. With so many other people, they probably wouldn’t mind another. But would that make them criminals harboring a fugitive?

He thought about it, thought about hiding in their basement, or something, while Dad and his deputies scoured the woods for him. He thought about it as he wandered deeper and deeper and the trees closed in and became more ancient. The ground was soft here, buried in leaf litter, and the air smelled rich and sweet with rotting plants.

Until suddenly it didn’t. That was the first thing he noticed. The air changed, and now he could feel it buzzing, like angry wasps. The birds had stopped singing, too, and he wasn’t in the forest anymore, he was in an almost empty clearing. 

In its center was a tree stump. It was massive; Dad could probably lie across it top to toe and still have space for Stiles. It also looked _old_ , gnarly and bumpy, like a witch’s finger. For some reason, his fingers itched to touch it. So he did, running his hands over the bark and staring and staring.

If he could have thought of anything else he might have been alarmed.

Until something new reached him. 

Smoke, thick and bitter in the air. 

His ears popped and he shook his head. Looked around. The night seemed less dark and he could smell it still. So he followed the smoke, feeling like he was dreaming again, until he stepped through a break in the trees and into a familiar garden and saw a familiar playset and the Hale House, lit up against the night sky.

The Hale House was on fire.

He took a step forward, but there was a groaning sound and the porch wrapping around the back of the house caved in. The flames billowed, and for a second Stiles thought, maybe it was OK. Maybe they were all away, on vacation or something.

Until he heard someone scream. He crouched behind a tree and watched Laura Hale stumble around the corner of the house, screaming for her family.

 _There’s people inside,_ Stiles thought.

And now he was running back into the forest.

He was panicking. He should be running the other way, back towards town to get help. But he was running like he was on tracks and he just wanted _help._

And then he burst into the clearing again.

The tree stump was waiting for him. It felt like it was listening. 

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski was in the Preserve all that night. At some point, he heard sirens and followed them to the Hale House, and then he was there until dawn.

When he could finally leave, he took a team with sniffer dogs and headed back into the Preserve.

But Stiles Stilinski was never found.

The next day, a stranger came to town.


End file.
